I'm Sorry
by NothingImpossible
Summary: Tumblr prompt for "I wish I could turn back the clock to before..." Captain Swan angst and healing speculation for post-5b.


_Tumblr prompt for hook-come-back-to-me_ – _Emma/Hook, "I want to turn back the clock to before …"_

 **Disclaimer** : Not my characters, not my world, just my imagination.

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He was quiet. Too quiet.

She knew he would need time to adjust, to get back to whatever passed for normal after being taken over by an ancient dark curse, resurrecting all the vessels for evil from the last millennium, nearly killing an entire town of people he formerly cared about, getting impaled through the heart by a legendary sword, and then being brought back to life from the freaking Underworld, taking leave from Hades himself.

Sometimes, she had a hard time believing her own life.

Three days. They had been back three days, and he still hadn't said more than a few sentences at a time, murmured so softly she could barely hear him sometimes. She didn't know if he was still traumatized from whatever happened to him _down there_ , which he clearly wasn't ready to talk about, saddened at saying goodbye to his brother, again, or overwhelmed by the whirlwind rush of events that even _she_ still hadn't fully processed since his (first) death in Camelot only a few weeks before.

She was afraid that it was none of those reasons.

She thought sharing a heart would make it easier to tell what he was feeling, but the mix of emotions between them was too overwhelming to sort out. She mentioned something casually to her father, how it felt, how it was supposed to feel, but he just smiled and shrugged. "Everyone's different, I imagine" he'd said. "You have to find your new normal."

She stayed near him, waiting for him to be ready to open up on his own. He seemed to not mind her presence at least - as far as she could tell, anyway; the half smiles he gave her didn't quite reach the corners of his eyes but it was better than nothing.

It was more than he had shared with anyone else since they returned.

He was usually so full of energy, of movement, of _**life**_ , his extensive vocabulary the highlight of his conversations whenever possible, laughing with the friends he'd made over the years he'd been in her life. This… this wasn't him.

She wanted to be patient for him, like he had been for her all those years before. But she was tired of not knowing and imagining the worst, and she had never been good at waiting.

She was afraid it was because of her.

She kept working up the courage to talk to him, to bring it up, to apologize for everything she did in Camelot, in Storybrooke. She wanted him to understand _why,_ but more than that, she wanted to say that she now understood why it hurt him so much, that she should have listened to him, and not turned him into his worst nightmare against his will.

She kept coming up with excuses not to talk to him.

But the more time went by, the more she was concerned for their future, whatever it would be now. She loved him, she always would, but the guilt was eating at her, and worst-case scenarios were keeping her up at night. And night was when she worried about him the most.

He'd been staying on his ship since their return, though he spent his days at her side - filing the massive amounts of paperwork that had piled up at the station, running errands, helping to clean out the now-obsolete Camelot campground. She slept alone in the too-large house that didn't smell right and echoed whenever she moved. She wasn't sure whether he wanted to stay with her, after everything that happened, and he hadn't brought it up. So, for now, they spent the nights apart.

On the fourth day, after being stuck inside for hours with stacks of folders and computers that _really_ needed updating, she decided to just go for it. He was in Tent Town with David, Robin, and the dwarves, taking down the last of the lodgings they had hastily erected for the surprise guests that had come back with them just few months before. The guests that _she_ had brought back with them, she reminded herself, not for the first time.

She ordered take-out from Granny's and texted to meet him for supper at their bench on the water; he knew which one. She brought the bag, thankful to have something to hold to hide the nervousness she felt all the way down to her fingertips. He was waiting when she got there, his gaze lingering over the water as his jaw clenched tightly. He was just as nervous.

He looked up as she approached, a slow grin lifting the corners of his mouth as he stood to greet her.

"Swan." His voice was soft, but he was there, he had shown up at least.

"Hi." She put the food down between them and opened it, steam billowing from the top as she sat and removed the containers of grilled cheese, onion rings, and the cheesy fries he had decided he enjoyed months ago, before the darkness intruded on their lives.

"You brought the-" he started as she pressed a few small packets of hot sauce into his hand.

He looked at her. His smile returned, more sincere than any she'd seen from him in days. "You remembered."

 _It was just hot sauce,_ she thought, a slow blush inexplicably creeping up her neck.

She huffed, breaking the surprisingly uncomfortable eye contact, as she tried to lighten the mood. "Of course I did. You only reminded me a hundred times this summer when you tried those fries with every sauce on the planet." She took a bite of her sandwich, thankful for the distraction as she reorganized her thoughts. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she should just wait, let him talk to her when he's ready. Maybe these awkward silences weren't so bad.

"Thanks," came the quiet reply. He took a bite.

They ate in silence for a while, the lapping of the tide against the wooden posts washing the sound from the air around them.

"Killian, I-" she started.

"I just-" he began at the same time. They both smiled nervously. _Why was this so hard?_

"Go ahead, Emma," he said, nodding to her.

She took a deep breath. _Just do it._

"I'm sorry." He looked up at her, startled, but she had psyched herself up too much to stop now. "I'm so sorry, Killian, about everything. I should have listened to you, back in Camelot. You knew how much I couldn't stand to lose you, but I had no right to take that choice from you, to turn you into…" She wasn't able to look him in the eye, so she stared at the half-eaten sandwich in her hands instead, picking at it with her fingers as she spoke. "Everything that's happened, it's all my fault, and I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to turn back the clock to before it all went wrong.

"If you hate me now, I understand, I would hate me too, but I just can't take you not talking to me." She met his gaze finally, blinking back the tears she wasn't ready to release just yet. "I love you, I'll always love you, but you're also my best friend, and I don't want to lose that friendship, even if I've ruined everything else between us. I miss you." The words wouldn't come anymore, except as a whisper. "I miss us."

He didn't say a word. She didn't know what she had expected to accomplish, she certainly wasn't going to be able to force him into talking before he was ready. But as uncomfortable as she felt right then, she also felt so much…. lighter, relieved. She looked back down at her lap.

A long minute passed, the noise from the ocean filling the silence between them.

He let out a shuddered breath, the first sound he'd made in what felt like eons.

"I don't hate you," came his quiet voice. She looked up. He was watching her, eyes filled an emotion she couldn't quite place. "I can't-" he broke off, swallowing hard. "I can't believe you'd ever think I could hate you, Emma."

She shook her head. "Then why've you been avoiding me, avoiding spending time with me?"

"Because." He looked down, jaw clenching furiously, his turn to focus intently on the fascinating remains of his food. "Because I'm so ashamed, and I thought you didn't want me anymore."

She nearly exploded. It took everything she had to keep from shouting. She reached for his hand, hoping his solid, familiar fingers would keep her calm. "What? Why would you think that?"

He turned to look at her, his eyes brighter than ever. "Everything I said to you, everything I did as the Dark One, I can't ever take it back, not matter how many times I apologize. I hurt you, Emma, the one person I swore I would never hurt. I hurt your family, and the worst part is, I don't even know how much of it was the darkness and how much was me." His voice broke and he looked away as a tear fell to his lap. "You deserve someone better, someone stronger, who won't disappoint you and treat you as I did." He squeezed her hand gently, slowly rubbing his fingers along hers.

This time, she didn't stop the tears that tracked their way down her cheeks.

"It wasn't you," she said, her voice soft but firm.

"How can you be sure?" he barely whispered. He still didn't look at her, couldn't look at her.

"Because Killian Jones, the man I love, would never do that, not to me or anyone, not anymore." She clenched his hand tightly in her smaller one, determined to show him just how sure she was. "Not the Killian who convinced me to give my parents a second chance after I was so angry with them. Not the Killian who talked me out of crushing Merida's heart when I was sure I had no control left. Not the man who snuck behind my back to pick out a house with my son, who was so certain we would remove the darkness from me and we'd all go home and have normal lives. And certainly not the man who, even when asking me to kill him, said 'it's ok' and tried to make me feel better as he died."

She reached across the bench and touched his chin, lifting his face even with hers. His eyes were rimmed with red, gaze uncertain, but he looked at her.

"I want you, Killian," she said, looking straight into his hauntingly blue eyes. "I choose you. Because I know you, the man you _really_ are, and despite everything in the past, I will always choose you."

He reached for her suddenly, pulling her close in his arms, ignoring the containers that fell to the ground as he pressed his face into her neck. She held him, tears streaming down her face as he held her just as tightly. "I love you, Emma," he whispered into her hair. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," she whispered back. "Me too."

They separated, each wiping their eyes. She laughed, a wet, hiccupping sound as he bent to retrieve their fallen lunch. "I got it," she said. She waved her hand, magically replacing the stack of containers back on the bench, this time off to the side. She slid closer to him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

This time, the sound of the ocean was like music, their own private song for the dance they'd just decided to continued.

"So, about that house..." he trailed off, eyebrow arching in that familiar way as his mouth turned up at the corner.

"It doesn't have much furniture right now," she replied honestly. It would take some work to decorate it, add some personal touches, erase so many of the harsh memories they both wanted to forget. "We could start working on it when the Camelot tents are down, if you want."

It would be ok. As hard as it was, and as hard as it would still be, she knew that it would be all right. They would be all right. They couldn't erase the past, not even the most powerful magic could. But they would be together, and they would, eventually, find their new normal, whatever it would end up being.

"You can stay with me in the meantime." She leaned closer and reached up to hold his hand, interlocking their fingers together.

"Your ship? It's a little cramped, isn't it? Plus you only have that tiny bed…"

"Well, luckily, I know a girl with magic who could probably help with that," he offered. "Well, luckily, I know a girl with magic who could probably help with that," he offered. "Think Regina would-" He broke off with a laugh as she thumped him lightly on his chest.

"You're impossible," she laughed.

He kissed her forehead as she rested against him. "Pirate."


End file.
